Aevum
by trufflemores
Summary: Flash drabbles, periodic updates.
1. Chapter 1

**Scene: 1.23 _Fast Enough_ , shortly after closing the singularity, Barry talks to Henry about Nora.**

"I had the chance to save her," Barry says, his voice ashy and thin.

Dad puts a hand on the glass wall. "Bar," he says. "You made the right choice."

Barry buries his face in his folded arms. "I had the chance to save her," he repeats tearfully. "I watched her die."

Dad taps the glass. "Hey," he insists. "Look at me." Barry inhales harshly, exhaling a sob. "Bar," Dad repeats, brushing his hand over the glass as if he could touch Barry's head. "What you did takes courage. And strength. And _heart._ "

Barry sniffs, looking up. "She died because of me," he whimpers. "I could've saved her, and I _didn't_ , and that means—"

"You're human," Dad finishes. His eyes burn with silver light in the dim prison overheads. "Kiddo, no one – and I mean _no one_ – in your shoes could've made a more heroic choice."

"I don't wanna be a hero," Barry says tiredly, leaning his head on his hand, elbow on the cold steel table. Hand still cradling the phone, his sole connection to his father. "I wanna be her son."

"You're mine," Dad says fiercely. "You will _always_ be mine. And you're always going to be hers, too."

Barry watches him, hungry, aching for contact he can't have. He puts a hand on the glass wall near his father's palm. "I miss you."

Dad's thumb brushes the glass against his palm. "I miss you, too," he admits. "There has not been one day – not one day, Bar – where I haven't been proud to be your father. And that will never change, whether I'm here or there or anywhere."

Barry nods slowly, tired, bearing a burned smell his father can't taste in the sterile air between them. Two worlds in isolation, the point of contact between them is painfully indirect. But even seeing his father is a balm to a still gaping wound.

He hears a siren in the distance and knows his time is limited. The Flash needs to be out there. The Flash needs to help repair the city in the wake of the singularity.

But Barry lingers a moment longer. "I'm gonna get you out of here," he promises fiercely. Dad says nothing, rubbing his thumb over the glass, thoughtful, supportive, dismissive, in-between. "You're not gonna be here forever."

Dad stares at him with those same silvery eyes, a trick of the light, a glimpse of the soul, and says simply, "Wherever I am, I'm always with you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Scene: 1.01 'Pilot,' at STAR Labs, Barry and Iris celebrate the particle accelerator launch.**

"So, does it actually do anything, or—?" Iris hands Barry a glass of champagne with a cheeky smile, admitting, "Either way, I'm prepared to raise a toast to the successful launch of the Atom Smasher." She clinks her glass against his before taking a sip.

He mirrors the gesture, flushed with victory and giddy for it. "This is only the beginning," he explains. "No fireworks yet. Harrison Wells wanted the public to see how harmless the accelerator really is, and so—" He gestures at the open banquet hall, countless toasts and conversations being exchanged. "Here we are."

"Mm, but I love a good show," Iris says with a playful pout, swaying into his shoulder. His heart beats faster; another sip of champagne does nothing to calm it. "This is nice," she admits. "Here I thought it would just be a bunch of nerds in lab coats talking about physics."

"They're here," Barry assures, staring at the chief nerd commanding the room at the front of the hall, his ready smile and firm handshake ubiquitous, "they're just wearing nicer clothing."

"Ahhhh." Iris follows his gaze and nudges him in the ribs. "Go talk to him."

Barry can't stop a nervous laugh. "Harrison Wells is the particle physicist equivalent of Beethoven. I'm a street urchin. Our worlds don't mix."

"All the more reason to talk to him," Iris says. When he doesn't move, she rolls her eyes and sets her glass on a high table, sashaying ahead and parting the crowd immediately around her. Barry drops his own glass beside hers and stumbles after her, urging in an increasingly frantic whisper:

"Iris, Iris, _please,_ Iris—"

Before she can reach the podium, Harrison Wells politely excuses himself, disappearing off-stage. Barry's disappointment is surprisingly crushing, even as he comes to a halt beside Iris, shaking slightly with relief. "I want to meet the particle physicist equivalent of Beethoven," Iris tells him as she intertwines her arm with his. "He sounds like an interesting man."

 _Brilliant, aloof, at times pretentious,_ Barry muses. "Interesting is the right word," he permits.

Looking around, he revels in the excitement. The sheer adrenaline of the night infuses every conversation: a lot of the attendees know that they are on the cusp of a new world of science, that this particle accelerator could be the first to create a self-sustaining nuclear fusion reaction and thus make that one-giant-leap towards solving the energy crisis. But nothing is more immediately thrilling to Barry than Iris' warmth at his side, her presence at all.

A thank-you, an admission of _I wouldn't want anyone else with me more_ is on the tip of his tongue, but before he can speak, a mugger snatches Iris' satchel.

He takes off, and the first domino tips.


End file.
